Magnificent Desolation_ The Long Journey Home From the Moon - Buzz Aldrin [38]
The often-used phrase regarding America’s space program has been: “Failure is not an option.” We all understand the concept that the equipment and the people need to perform as planned, with no miscues. But if failure is not an option, then you need to stay on the ground. Everything about space travel is subject to failure, and if it is worth doing, it will involve taking calculated risks. We had risks in Apollo 11 as well, and that mission could easily have turned out similar to Apollo 13, but thankfully it didn’t. Only the possible rewards of exploration make the risks tolerable.
THAT SAME YEAR, I engaged in explorations of a much more earthy nature. While attending an Air Force gathering with my father at the New York Athletic Club, my attention drifted toward an attractive, bright-eyed woman with long brown hair. She was attending the event with another West Point guy, but the attraction between us was immediately obvious to both of us. Her name was Marianne, and my relationship with her nearly wrecked my life. Things at home with Joan had not been going well for quite a while, and I was vulnerable in more ways than I wanted to admit.
Joan was from Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey, not far from my hometown, and we had met on a blind date set up by our parents before I went off to war in Korea. When I came home, we went out a few times before I was transferred to Las Vegas, and I proposed to her shortly thereafter. We married on December 29, 1954. Joan had a master’s degree from Columbia University and a fascination with theater. Wherever we lived, she enjoyed participating in numerous local productions, providing a creative outlet for her talent. She had been a good military wife, adjusting to the many moves involved in my career. But we had long since grown apart, and we both knew it.
I knew that several astronauts had compromised their marriage vows. That was no excuse, but knowing that I was not the only astronaut to succumb to temptation made the rationalization to pursue Marianne much easier. I assuaged my conscience by reminding myself that we all had feet of clay, that a West Point cadet I knew could compromise the honor code and still be promoted to general, that a minister of the Gospel could preach against sin while indulging in it, and that a clean-cut, All-American astronaut could think of himself as above the rules while bending them to accommodate his own desires. I revisited my rationalizations each time I climbed aboard a T-38 aircraft in Houston and pointed it toward New York, ostensibly to keep up my flying time, but in reality to facilitate my relationship with Marianne.
AT THE SAME time, I was committed to using my newfound fame for good, to try to increase communication between generations that regarded one another with mistrust at best, and often with downright disdain. With the specter of Kent State still hanging over our nation, in the spring of 1970 I set about organizing a “Conference on Youth Representation,” a program in which young people could have ongoing opportunities to voice their opinions and articulate their views with adults. I secured commitments from a wide array of recognized leaders who were willing to meet with young people, and sent out invitations to leaders of college-aged young men and women around the country.
Hugh Downs was tremendously helpful, and hosted our first organizational meeting on the set of the Today Show at NBC’s studios in Rockefeller Center in New York City. Some of the adult leaders who agreed to participate included the anthropologist Margaret Mead; Fran Tarkenton and Lance Rentzel, two popular NFL superstars; Sargent Shriver, an in-law of the